Dolorous
by AnneAquila
Summary: Pain was not new to Apollo. Whether it was him almost suffocating to death in the flames that killed his father, gaining a foster family and then losing it to a revolution, being played like a worthless pawn by his first mentor who'd turned out to be a cold blooded killer - time has let him become well acquainted with the emotion. But this feeling...it was so much more.


**A/N:** Hey Guys - Aquila here! I've always been a huge fan of the Ace Attorney games, and I think that we can all agree that Dual Destinies _**broke our hearts.**_ Usually, I always strive to let Clay live and erase all memories of him dying in my works - but this time, I broke Apollo's heart and my own while writing this.

...I'm sorry, OK?

* * *

 _ **Dolorous**_

* * *

It was over - all the nightmarish flashbacks, the grueling witness testimony, the hopelessness of hearing answers that didn't fit, the stakes pushing even higher.

It was all over.

Apollo let his shoulders sag, weariness settling on his features. The bags under his eyes looked more like purplish bruises, casting long shadows in the hollows of his gaunt face.

The unwieldy scar that sliced across his 'telling' eye had yet to fade, and now stung without its protective bandages. His forearms were littered with mottled pink scar tissue. His wrists smarted and his broken arm ached, his ankles bent and swollen at painful angles. The back of his head still throbbed from Ted Tonate's brutal assault.

What a mess.

He was barely 25 and his body was already screaming out to be in a retirement home.

He shouldn't be here.

He should be resting right now, not involving himself in an emotionally overwhelming murder trial whose subject matter was severely detrimental to his already fragile state of mind.

Surprisingly enough, the injuries themselves hadn't deterred him.

He had been horribly bruised and burnt after the Courtroom 4 bombing during Candice Arme's trial. He had ignored the majority of his wounds to get back on track with the investigation, only to be bludgeoned with a rock and rushed into the A&E in a medically induced coma.

Things couldn't possibly get worse, could they?

Mr. Wright had replaced him as Lead Defense for the Arme trial, telling him to rest up, get healed properly and turn up fresh and sprightly for the next case. The jokes and bluster were a poor screen for how worried he had actually been at the time.

Apollo had taken the advice to heart, giving in to all the ministrations his wounds required and sleeping the stress away.

Only to get a phone call from 29th Precinct Homicide that had ripped out whatever salvageable parts of himself he had had left.

 _ **Clay.**_

Apollo shuddered.

It hurt to breathe.

This air - this air that his body gulped in so greedily - this air had been stolen from Clay.

The earth had quenched itself with his innocent blood, lighting fires of destruction for the ones he had left behind.

He had died too young, too soon.

His dream had been to see the stars in their sea of vacuum, to watch the solar winds ripple across the poles of the earth, to drink in the sight of a moonrise.

And just on the brink of realizing it, his dreams had been cruelly snatched away from him.

As was his life.

Clay's demise had left an irreparable void in Apollo's heart. When he had first heard, he had been _**numb.**_

 _ **Cold.**_

 _ **Insensate.**_

Then came the _**anger.**_

The _**desperation.**_

The fury.

The determination to find the person who had done this to Clay, who had done this to _**him.**_

He had fallen to old methods and older morals, abandoning all trust and faith in his mentor and his friends.

Every time he had wavered, images had come to haunt him:

 _ **Yellow tape.**_

 _ **A chalk outline.**_

 _ **Streaks of crimson on a leaf-strewn floor.**_

And now, it was over.

Athena had been cleared, Blackquill had been saved and the Phantom had been put on death row for the crimes he had committed. Apollo's suspicions had been addressed and Aura's misgivings had been put to rest.

 _ **But at what cost?**_

Apollo's knees gave out, buckling to the floor. He shuddered, shoulders convulsing with silent sobs.

The tears he had restrained for so long fell, ripping new trails of pain in their wake. He finally let go of all the emotion he had pent up, letting the feelings consume him.

 _ **Grief.**_

 _ **Loss.**_

 _ **Pain.**_

He had loved Clay with every fibre of his being.

Clay had always been there for him, had let him confide in his hopes and fears, his dreams and nightmares. He had praised him in his success and supported him in his failure, had stuck with him through the ups and downs. They had bore 10 years of friendship, 7 years of marriage with a child and 17 years of vows that hadn't needed to be said to be promised.

Their love had been built on obsidian under a canopy of stars, shining like a diamond in a sea of cobalt ink.

And now, Clay was gone.

 _ **Clay.**_

His husband.

His lover.

 _ **His friend.**_

Murdered in an international conspiracy.

Killed in cold blood.

 _ **Dead.**_

* * *

 **A/N:** Jazz hands?

I kid, I kid. Anyway, in my fanonical Claypollo headcanons, Clay and Apollo are married.

I might make this chapter a prologue of a chapter fic later...what do you guys think? (I've got more chapters in mind if you'd like to read more...but that's up to you. Otherwise, I'm pretty happy to leave this as it is)

And in case any of you were wondering, Dolorous is the adjective form of the root word Dolor, meaning pain and grief in neo-Latin.

* * *

 **(AK)** My heart. My poor little heart. Have mercy on it, mon ami. Please.


End file.
